


When The Dust Settles

by Not_A_Valid_Opinion



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), The Soul Stone - Freeform, back and forth between the soul stone ppl and the living ppl like Tony and Steve, basically everybody who got dusted is in this, both peters make me want 2 cry, dead marvel characters, living in the soul stone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-08 01:07:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14683281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_A_Valid_Opinion/pseuds/Not_A_Valid_Opinion
Summary: “Thanos won,” he says, and Uncle Ben hums somewhere at the back of his throat. “He… he won. That means… half the population is gone. So where…” he looks around, at the expanse of grass and dusk and nothing more. “Where’s everybody else? What is this place?”Ben shifts his position, his movements slack, tired. “Pete, I’d tell you if I knew. All I know is ain’t nobody here but you, buddy.”“... And you,” Peter adds, glancing back to his Uncle. “You’re here, too.”The soul stones holds the souls of those turned to ash. And those souls?They grieve.





	1. Lost Love

**Author's Note:**

> Late to the party but really wanted to write something for this movie. Next chapter will focus on the characters that survived.

Her first thoughts came slow and naturally.

_ This is nice. _

It was warm all around, comfortably warm, like she was wearing a blanket that she somehow knew without opening her eyes she wasn’t actually wearing. 

She didn’t want to open her eyes. It was warm here. It was  _ safe _ here. Wasn’t it? How could it not be? 

She must have been lying in a bed, it was so soft. Or maybe she was in someone's arms.  _ Visions? _ She considers, then freezes, because, _ No. No, nonononono- _

“Hey, hey hey hey… shh…” 

That voice. That soothing, beautiful voice… 

It struck fear in her heart. She shoots up, shoving herself away from him. _ Him.  _

“I…” she gasps, staring her brother in the eyes. “I’m dead.” 

Pietro smiles softly, then looks down to his hands, his hands that just held her, cradelled her, protected her. He wipes them on his leggings. He stands, always just a little taller than her. “I wish I could tell you you’re wrong,” Pietro admits, gazing around them. Wanda, hesitantly, follows his gaze to their surroundings for the first time since she’d woken. 

The first thing she notices is the red sun. It’s large, far larger than it should be, and yet, she doesn’t extinguish under its glare. The sky around it was dark, scattered with empty stars that she swears she could see burning. Around her, grass. Green, blue, and purple blades, mixed in patches and reaching just past her ankle, in all directions. There was no break in the pattern, nothing in the distance to suggest there would be any change for miles on every end. 

She chances a look back at Pietro. 

He’s gone. 

She releases a shuddering breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding and calls for her brother. When she gets no reply, then no reply again, she lets out a sob she didn’t know she had left in her. 

 

* * *

  
  


Peter’s first breath in death is violent- he sucks oxygen into his lungs and chokes as though it were water, sputtering and gasping and struggling to hold his head above the- grass?

Eyes wide and shaking violently, he shoves himself up, stumbling over his legs that can barely hold his own weight. 

“M-Mr. Stark?” he tries, but the air is weird, and it hurts for him to breath, and- 

“Breathe with me, Pete; it’s okay, okay?” 

He tries, knows the routine, recognizes the pattern of the hand in front of his face, slowly rising and falling. He tries to match his breathing to it, to clear his brain, but Mr. Stark was stabbed and he was breaking apart from the inside and they  _ lost- _

“Pete, work with me buddy. Breathe with me, Pete.” 

Peter’s voice cracks as tears pool around his eyes. “Uncle Ben, we couldn’t stop him, we… we…” he blinks, eyes frozen on the large hands moving up and down slowly. Then, painstakingly, he turns his gaze up. 

“.... Uncle Ben?” he chokes, and Ben drops his hand. He’s smiling; it’s a light, familiar smile that makes Peters heart crumble. He thought he’d never see that smile again. 

“Heya, Pete. You feelin’ any better?” Ben asks, and Peter lets out a laugh that's almost hysterical and shoves the back of his hand into his mouth, starting to pace through the grass. 

He vaguely looks up at the sky, notices just how dead he would be if there really was a red sun that close to the earth, assumes he’s not on earth, and lets his jaw drop his hand. 

He’s not on earth, or on Titan, either. 

He’s dead. 

Peter’s about to have a panic attack all over again. 

“Pete?” Uncle Ben calls from behind him, and Peter closes his eyes, braces himself, then runs into Ben’s arms. Ben lets out a faint  _ oof _ at the sudden hug, then wraps his arms back around Peter. 

The two of them drop down into the grass, the freakin’ _ navy blue grass, _ and Uncle Ben holds Peter as he sobs, gripping his Uncle like he’s afraid he’ll float away. 

Finally Peter chokes out, “I don’t want to be dead, Uncle Ben.” 

Ben sighs, dropping his chin onto the top of Peter’s head. “At least there’s that.” 

They sit there in quiet after that, Peter’s tears long gone yet barely dried against his cheeks. He wants to start to sleep just then, in Ben’s arms, like he’d used to when he was a kid. 

_ I’m still a kid,  _ Peter admits somewhere in the back of his mind. Then, he sits up. 

“Thanos won,” he says, and Ben hums somewhere at the back of his throat. “He… he won. That means… half the population is gone. So where…” he looks around, at the expanse of grass and dusk and nothing more. “Where’s everybody else? What is this place?” 

Ben shifts his position to adjust to Peter sitting up. “Pete, I’d tell you if I knew. All I know is ain’t nobody here but you, buddy.” 

“... And you,” Peter adds, glancing back to his Uncle. “You’re here, too.” 

Ben’s eyes shine with a gloss they didn’t have the right to create. He stands up, his gaze to the dying sun. Peter watches as his smile grows at the sight of the burning dots that dance along the backdrop of reality. 

“Oh, Pete,” he grins peacefully, “If I were here with you, I’d never leave your side again.” 

And, with that, Peter watches as he turns to a crimson sand before his eyes and floats on the absence of wind up to the red, red sun. 

Peter, almost as a reflex, reaches out to catch the sand. He never reaches a single grain. 

Just like that, Uncle Ben is gone from his life all over again. 

“Oh.” 

A voice, from behind him again. He doesn’t have the strength to look and see who it is. Not again. Not  _ again.  _

“Uncle Ben,” his voice cracks out, instead, his eyes locked on the sun. There’s silence as he struggles to rip his eyes away, blinking away tears and gripping the disgustingly tranquil purple grass below him like a lifeline. 

From behind him is the softest step in his direction. If Peter didn’t have enhanced hearing, he’d have missed entirely. He stiffens. He doesn’t want to look, but chances a glance towards the noise to see- 

Oh. 

_ Oh. _

_ Isn’t that-  _

The man sits down in the grass near Peter but not close enough to touch him. Peter doesn’t want to turn around and face him, wants to cry, actually, but can’t bring himself to anymore. Peter doesn’t remember his name right now. He knows he knew it at one point. He knows he was on the news for terrible things, but he was with the Avengers- well, half of them, and not his half- that day at the airport. 

The man’s fake arm(was it different from the last time Peter saw it?) grips the grass, just like Peter’s hands had done moments before, and rips bits of it from the dirt passively. He isn’t even looking at Peter. 

So Peter doesn’t look at him. His gaze turns back to the sky, back to where his Uncle had vanished just moments before. Where Peter had lost him again. But… 

“He wasn’t really here,” Peter says to himself vaccently. “I just thought he was, didn’t I?” 

There’s a long moment of quiet before the man with the fake arm- Bucky, Peter suddenly recalls- sighs. 

“You’re a lot younger than I thought you were, back at the airport. You sounded young. Like Steve back in the day. But…” Bucky trails off, looking nowhere in particular and sounding lost in it. 

Peter smiles for a miniscule, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Ya,” he says blandly, “I’m turning 17 soon. Or, I would have been.” 

Bucky lets out a weak laugh. “I just turned 101.” 

Peter spins on his knees to face him. “No _way,”_ he exclaims, and the man runs a hand through his long, dirty locks. 

“Yep. You’re looking at a fossil.” 

There’s silence again before Peter clears his throat, daring himself to speak up. “So… just to, like, clarify. This is death, right? This is what death feels like? I mean, I saw my-my dead Uncle so… But I don’t think I literally saw him, I think I just… I don’t know. I’ve never been dead, man, I don’t know.” 

“What you saw was a ghost,” Bucky grounds out, his voice low yet apologetic, “I’ve been seeing them, too. But I’ve seen their deaths too many times in my head for it to be anything new, and I started walking. They didn’t follow.” He pauses, looks Peter’s exhausted form over, and adds; “don’t let your ghosts follow you, either, kid. We might be dead, but clearly, we’re not done yet.” 

With that, Bucky stands. He extends his prosthetic arm to Peter, who hesitantly grabs it, allowing himself to be pulled up. Together, they start to walk against the sun- Bucky’s steps deliberately slower than they could be, Peter knows, because everything about Peter is slow right now and Bucky doesn’t want to leave him behind. Which is, of course, a nice thought- an odd one, because he remembers fighting him at the airport, but he also remembers holding onto the outside of a plane as it crashes onto a beach and holding onto the outside of a spaceship as it barrels into the stratosphere and he remembers the feeling of something deep inside of him melting outwards into his whole body until there was nothing left of him and- 

Ya. He figures that, right now, he doesn’t have the energy or care enough to question Bucky helping him.

 

* * *

  
  


“Drax!” Quill yells, kicking his passed-out comrad in the side in an attempt to wake the large man up. It doesn’t work. “Drax, dude, c’mon, man. We gotta figure out what the fuck is going on here, because this place is seriously fucked up. I mean, bro, the sun is way too close for comfort and on literally no planet should it ever look like that. Shit’s too red, man,” Quill tries for a laugh, trying to roll his friend over, but Drax- who is literally snoring by this point, and is actually what woke him up- doesn’t seem keen on waking. 

Defeated, Quill surveys his options. He could walk in a random direction, see if he could find anybody. He could wait for Drax to wake before doing that, which would be nicer, but Quill didn’t think he was going to be waking up any time soon. He could also just sit there and pout until Drax woke. That sounded like a good option. 

It would get stressful really quick, though, and Quill didn’t want to think about that right now. 

_ Fuck, too late, _ he yells in his own brain.  _ Gamora is dead and, God, because of me… So am I, and so is Drax, and so is half the freakin’ universe.  _

Quill sits there, leaning on Drax’s unconscious form and shaking like a leaf (oh god, Gamora is dead, she’s dead), until a figure begins to emerge in the distance. Quill doesn’t spot it until he looks up from his quivering hands and wipes the water forming in his eyes. When he sees it, he merely squints, grief and rage forming nothing but an empty slate in his mind. As it gets closer, it occurs to Quill it might be dangerous, and he half-heartedly jabs the sleeping man next to him again. Drax lets out a deep sigh in his sleep, and Quill gives up quickly. 

Instead, he watches as it gets closer and simply holds his gun in his hand at his hip. Not planning on getting up to defend himself. If the figure was dangerous, he’s job would be to protect Drax. Nothing more. 

Not anymore.

The figure, just up ahead, looks familiar. Just as he's about to call out to it- to her, he realizes, watching the woman's far too slim frame shake with each step from so, so far away; she stops. Then, she turns away. Quill wants to run to her. It's something about her that just... seems familiar. 

He takes a step forwards. 

“I recall once you called it the Blame Game,” says a voice from behind him, and Quill is so startled he throws himself up from Drax, his elbow jabbing the sleeping form accidentally, and his heart stops beating when he stares her in the eyes. 

“I don’t see how its a game if you’re the only one playing,” Gamora continues, her eyes sad, “then again, I didn’t play many games when I was young. Something about my upbringing, I guess.” 

Peter tries to choke out words, but can’t. His mouth is open, and he thinks he’s let out some form of a noise, but it never reaches his own ears, much less hers. Finally, his voice starts to work, though it comes out shakier than his hands. 

“G-Gamora?” he whispers, intelligently, and the woman smiles, but again it doesn’t reach her eyes. 

“No,” she says. Her words are cold, but so, so familiar. Quill’s heart cracks in two. “No, Peter. I’m just how you remember me. I’m just here because you miss me,” she explains, her eyes cast to Drax, who snores on. Then, they travel back to Quill, and God, he can still see life swimming in those dead, dead eyes. “It’s… nice, to be missed, though.” 

Quill’s eyes are filling with tears again. “So then… you’re-” he stops, because Gamora's eyes hold the answer to that unspoken question. So, instead, he steps around Drax and pulls her into his arms. He holds her, his nose in her hair, and sobs. 

She holds him, too. Together, they just stand there, Drax’s unbelievably loud snoring nothing more than a ringing in Quill’s ears as he grips her like a lifeline, well aware he’s crying at this point. Gamora sniffles at his shoulder, and it breaks Quill’s heart in four. 

“Thanos’ actions are his own,” she whispers, and Quill barely hears her under the ringing. He pulls away slightly, looking her in the eyes. They’re so beautiful. Quill memorizes every detail of them all over again. 

“It’s my fault,” he admits, remembering the punch,  _ the fucking punch _ . Gamora grips his chin in her hand and sqeezes lightly. 

“It’s his doing, not yours. Quill, What you did was who you are.”

That doesn’t make him feel any better. 

“And by that,” she tries again, “I mean that you acted out of emotion. Something Thanos never could have, no matter how much he convinces himself he does. You acted out of love.” 

Gamora pulls him into a kiss. She pulls away slowly, and Quill’s lips are cold where her’s touched his. 

“Ya, but I still-” Quill takes a breath, “kinda killed half the universe.” 

“ _ Thanos _ did that,” Gamora puts her head on his chest, closing her eyes. “You were grieving the half of the universe you’d already lost. Plus, you’re just an idiot.” 

Quill’s eyes trail, and Gamora wipes them away, her head never leaving her chest and his tears never making a sound. 

“I should have killed you,” Quill whimpers, closing his eyes and leaning in her touch, and Gamora hand freezes, then wraps back around him. 

Then, Drax sits up with a scream, scrambling at the grass as though he’d woken from a nightmare. He pulls a knife out of his short’s pocket and breathes heavily, eyes scrambling to find the danger before they land on Quill. 

“Good morning,” he says, blandly, humour intended yet not striking in his tone. He doesn’t have to look to see Gamora isn’t there anymore- he knew the moment he looked away she would vanish. 

Still, he looks. 

Still, it hurts.


	2. Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony dreams of ghosts. Ghosts remember them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey so if anybody saw that I uploaded this chapter and then deleted it I might have done exactly that whoops

He doesn’t know how long he’d been running for.

He was fast, faster than he’d ever been. There was no wind to force him back. He had free reign to run as fast as he could for as long as he could. 

He couldn’t, however, outrun his memories. 

“I must have sounded so hypocritical,” he bitches to himself as he goes. 

Eventually, he has to pause for breath. Amazing, how there was air and nothing to push it. Amazing, the nocturnal sun that should not exist. Amazing, the grass that almost glowed, the main source of light in the darkness illuminated only by the burning stars. 

“I would not be surprised if the first thing Okoye does when she sees me again is slap me,” T’Challa groans to himself, careful of his use of  _ when. When, _ because he would get out of wherever this was. Death, past, before- it did not matter. He would get back. 

His people needed him. 

From behind him, he hears a rustle in the grass. He turns his head to see- 

A black panther. 

T’Challa blinks. 

The panther stares back. 

“Father?” he uncertainly asks, and the panther sits down in the grass, staring off to the side. 

It does not turn into his father. 

T’Challa walks towards it. He sits down in the grass next to it. It doesn’t seem to care, and so, after a few minutes, he scoots closer. He freezes when it suddenly moves, but seeing as all it does is lay down, he lets out a breath of relief. Then, he rubs his hand across its back. 

It turns its head lazily to look at him, and T’Challa can see stars in its eyes. 

Then, it nudges its head against his hand. He smiles and strokes its head. 

He doesn’t know how long he stays like that, with a panther by his side, gently petting its head as it peacefully lays next to him. 

Then, he remembers Shuri. 

He gets up, startling the animal. 

“My apologies, brother,” he says. “But I have to keep going.” 

He tries not to feel bad as he continues to run. 

 

* * *

 

If things had ended differently than they had, he might have been been cracking a deflecting joke right about now. Maybe asking the blad, blue lady who was currently fixing a ship for the two of them to go literally anywhere else than they were right then if she had an advil. He might have yelled, too. He might have yelled in victory, in joy, in defeat, in anguish. He might have just screamed. Maybe he would have said anything at all. 

Instead, he sits in the dust, the fucking  _ dust,  _ of a planet made of cracks and ash. 

_ Peter’s _ ashes. 

Tony brings a hand to his face, wants to drag it down his eyes and fade away, but the ashes are there, mixed in with the blood on his hand, and Tony is shaking, has no words. 

The failed  _ you’re fine _ taste like blood in his mouth and he can't let it pool out. 

“Hey. Terran,” the alien growls, and Tony blinks, finally noticing the tears as they tip out of his tear ducts. “I got the ship working.” 

The alien tucks her head inside of a smaller craft than the one he’d come here on, one she’d merged as the parts of other non-functional but sustainable ships. Tony had watched her put it together, and hadn’t said a word, hadn’t lifted a finger, hadn’t even stood from where he’d sunk to his knees.

Still, he doesn’t. 

_ I don’t want to go.  _

Tony, if he had the energy, would throw up. 

“Hey,” she yells, this time. “Let’s go.” 

He hears her footsteps, but doesn’t notice how close she’d gotten until she grabs him by the arm and quite literally throws him to his feet. 

  
  


 

 

 

_ The red. Sun, stars, faces. The black. The sky to it all. The blue. The grass, too tall to be called grass, to blue and green and purple to be called anything at all.  _

_ Tony knows he’s not really standing where he is. _

_ He knows the sun can’t ever exist as it does. He knows you should never be close enough to the stars to see them burn on a backdrop of fucking nothing. He knows that Peter died in his arms.  _

_ But, God, if that’s not Peter there right in front of him.  _

 

He wakes up with tears in his eyes, but doesn’t make a sound, doesn’t get up. 

“We’re almost at your planet, so you’d have needed to get up soon, anyway,” The woman practically whispers, never once facing him from where she pilots the ship.    
  
  


 

 

 

They land at Pepper’s feet. 

She glares at him, and for a moment, Tony thinks she’s about to yell. Maybe she’s about to cry. Instead of either, she steps towards him gingerly and pulls him into the gentlest hug he’d ever felt. 

Its enough to shatter him.

He squeezes her softly, lets out a breathy sob in her hair, tremors raking through his body. 

“I thought you’d be gone, too,” he cries. 

She holds him tighter. 

“I’m not going anywhere, Tony,” her voice quivers. 

  
  


 

 They go to Wakanda. 

“They need you to… be with them, right now, I think,” Pepper explains, since she’d been the one to get Cap’s call.

_ (“I can’t get ahold of Tony, Pepper, and… Bruce had your number.”) _

 Tony simply nods. He can’t stand the thought of being with Steve right now. 

If it wasn’t for the last part of his message, he wouldn’t even be considering going. He’d just go home with Pepper, maybe lay in bed until he goes into a coma, maybe drink until he forgets. 

But even Pepper sounds hollow when she repeats his words. 

_ (“Pepper, I… don’t know whose left. We- we’ve lost so many… Bucky’s gone. And I don’t- I don’t know what to do.”)  _

So, they get on a plane and go where Steve told Pepper he was: Wakanda. 

Thank God for directions. 

 

* * *

 

Despite the heat, Wanda was freezing. 

It wasn’t her skin. There, she felt nothing, not even the slightest breeze. 

It wasn’t her heart. There was a fire that had melted all she was. 

No, it had no cause. But, God, if she wasn’t freezing. 

She’d started walking, eventually. The longer she sat there, in the grass, the colder she’d felt. 

She figures, but does not truly know why. So, she starts to walk. 

As she goes, she promised herself she will not stop. She sees her brother, in the distance. 

Her footsteps falter for only the slightest moment before she clenches her fists so tight they start to bleed. 

That makes her notice that she can still bleed. 

Was this really death, then? If once could bleed in death, could one also die in death? 

Perhaps she wasn’t dead. This could be a place beyond death, a place where souls go to gather before the wind sweeps their dust into the sky and beyond the eyes of those they’d left behind. 

She’s left nobody behind. 

Everybody else was dead. 

She keeps walking, if only to hear no thoughts. The silence to the breezeless air was deafening, and she felt as though she was drowning in it. 

“You could always just take a rest,” says Vision from her side, and she doesn’t know when he got there but forces herself not to freeze at his sudden voice. “I know you’re tired. It’s okay to rest your eyes, if it’ll help.” 

She keeps walking, her fists so tight the blood drips onto the grass. 

“Wanda,” he says again, stepping in front of her, and she’s forced to stop. “Look at me. You’re exhausted. You’ll get yourself… well, I was going to say killed, but-” 

“What do you want from me,” Wanda growls, her eyes to the ground below her with a burning furiosity. She will not look another ghost in the eyes just to watch him fade away from her yet again. 

Vision signs, tries to hold her, but she flinches away.

“To help you,” he says, and Wanda feels a fire in her gut, “That’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.” 

“You’re not Vision.” 

“No,” he agrees, after a moment. “I’m just your vision of Vision, I’m afraid. I… I love you, just as he did, and I-” 

Wanda forms a staticity of red cloud at her hands and throws it at the whisper of a man who she loves. The form of Vision doesn’t try to dodge it, just looks sad as it strikes. He dissipates into red sand, floating away into the pitch black sky all around her. 

She keeps walking. 

The tears, this time, are silent.

 

* * *

 

_ “D’you think the sun ever goes down here?” quietly asks a man Tony can’t see.  _

_ “Pffffft,” contributes a much younger voice, muffled, hard to make out. All Tony can see is grass, much higher than their voices. “I don’t know. Maybe, because we’re so close to the sun, we’re a part of it.”  _

_ “That doesn’t sound right,” the first voice says, and Tony can hear an amused kind of skepticism to his tone.  _

_ “No, it doesn’t,” agrees the kid, the kid, “but being here doesn’t feel right, either. So, I figure, F science.”  _

_ Tony tries desperately to push through the grass, to get to the voices, to Peter’s voice, but as soon as he pulls it away from his face, the bright and shining light blinds him.  _

 

He opens his eyes with a gasp. 

“Tony!” Pepper cries from above him, and slowly, his eyes focus in on her. 

“P’pper?” he groans, then throws an instinctual hand to his side, his- 

Oh. Right. 

“Jesus christ, Tony, you- are you okay? You passed out, you-you’re bleeding, I thought-”

“He’ll be fine,” says the blue alien, and oh, Tony had forgotten about her, too. “He was stabbed in a place that purposefully wouldn’t kill him right away. Thanos wanted him to watch as he won.” 

Pepper make a choking noise at the back of her throat as the alien’s hand mechanicalizes and switches open. She motions for Pepper to step back, and she does so very quickly. Using her regular hand, she moves cloth out of the way of the injury and holds it open, much to Tony’s agony. Then, she sprays it with a nozzle off to the left of her compartmentalized thumb. 

“What is that,” Pepper questions, not really phrasing it like one. 

She closes her hand and brushes the fabric back over the wound. Tony groans, and Pepper squeezes his hand. “It was for my Sister, Gamora. If she’d… if I’d been there when she died, I was hoping I could have maybe healed her. But she’s dead. Be stupid to let you die, too.” 

Pepper’s eyes flicker between Tony, who still looks too pale for comfort, and the alien. Then, she holds out her hand. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, “In the rush, I didn’t catch your name.” 

_ (“Who’s she?” Pepper asks. _

_ “She’s coming with us on the plane,” is all Tony says, his eyes exhausted.)  _

She eye’s Pepper’s hand, seemingly both on edge and confused. Then she takes her hand. Pepper shakes, and hesitantly, she does the same. 

“Nebula,” she says. 

“Nebula,” Pepper repeats, watching as Tony starts to gain some colour back to his face, still holding his hand. “Glad to have you.”    
  


* * *

 

The panther is still there. 

As he runs, he looks back. There is nothing following him as he runs. There is nothing ahead of him that he runs to. 

But whenever he stops to catch his breath, he knows it is behind him. 

“With all due respect, brother,” he heaves with breath, “can I help you?” 

As he expects, it does not reply. T’Challa takes a moment to relax, having run for maybe hours to no avail. He didn’t know where he was trying to go, but he knew where he wanted to get. That alone was enough to keep him running.

“How did you die?” he asks, falling to his knees as he rests, exhausted. “When half of all life disappeared, I do not know where we went. I do not know where this is, or why there is nobody else here. I do not know who you are,” he gestures to the panther, who watches his hands with care, “but I am sorry you are here with me. I am not much company. I must keep running.” 

The panther, at this bows its head. T’Challa watches, waits. It seems to just be staring at the grass. He sighs, gets up, then turns to run again. 

It is still there the next breath he stops to take. 

It hurts, but he ignores it. 

He keeps running. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments feed a hoe


	3. Stress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce tries to reconnect with Tony. Someone is freezing, someone is lost, someone is stressed, and Peter makes Bucky sad somehow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly a filler chapter, as we reconnect with the rest and everybody is slowly losing it. Next chapter will be about more connections

The reunion is, with a lack of any other word to describe it as, nothing more than bittersweet. 

Tony was glad to see them. Though, it wasn’t out of love- it was out of relief. 

Relief, because at least they weren’t dead, too. 

“You should talk to him,” Bruce pipes up when he manages to catch Tony alone, tugging at the edges of his sleeves anxiously, as though the energy in the room alone made him skittish. Hell, it probably did, knowing the guy. 

But he didn’t really know the guy anymore, did he? Bruce had left. He’d left, and Tony hadn’t heard a word from him until a fucking _ wizard  _ showed up with him in tow. 

“Bruce,” Tony stops him, tired, not wanting to discuss it, not ready to look Steve in the eyes and admit he couldn’t protect those he loved alone, couldn’t protect the  _ kid-  _

The scientist sighs, but it isn’t out of annoyance. He sounds… defeated. Tired. “Okay. Okay, well, we should talk, then. We haven’t talked, other than about imminent danger, in… three years, now?” Bruce thinks for a moment, shifting his stance, “I’m not fully certain. It’s been hard to keep track of time.” 

_ Ya, no kidding,  _ Tony wants to scream, but he bites his tongue. 

Instead, he goes for; “You haven’t missed out on all that much, to tell you the truth. Time has breezed past without any reason to take note of it. But hey, that’s just me. Why do you go ask Widow how her past few  _ years _ have been. You owe her more than me, after all.” 

Bruce pauses, then looks to the floor, away from Tony’s broken eyes and to shield his own. He looks around the room, finding a chair, and goes to sit on it- he makes a point to sit fully back into it to show that he wasn’t ready to spring up at a moments notice, wasn’t going to leave. Not again. 

If Tony notices this subtle gesture, he does not acknowledge it. 

“You’re right,” he admits slowly, apologetically, “I owe her a lot. I left, and to be fully honest, I chose to go. But it wasn’t just her I left, Tony. And I… I’m sorry.” 

Tony says nothing, so he continues; “I didn’t mean to go as far as I did, or for as long as I did. I left because I was angry, at-at myself, Tony. And that kind of anger doesn’t go away. So, neither did the Hulk.” 

At that, he catches the man’s attention. Bruce shuffles uncomfortably, looking out the glass walls at the nothing on the other side. “I couldn’t change back. It… must have been about two years, I was stuck in the back of his head. If it wasn’t for Thor waking me up…” Bruce shudders. He takes a breath, “Tony, I left. And I left you, too. I don’t even have the right to apologize for that, but… so many people are gone. You and the Avengers were all I had to begin with, really, so seeing you guys lose so much so quickly hurts so fucking  _ badly, _ Tony. I need you to be okay, and I know you’re not. Neither is Thor, or Rocket the fucking  _ raccoon,  _ or-or… Steve.” 

“What do you want me to say to him, then, hmm?” Tony growls, gripping his pant leg like a lifeline. “You want me to apologize? You want me to forgive him? You want me to forgive  _ myself? _ No, because I have nothing left to say to him.” 

“You have so much left to say to him! Can’t you just start with, like, ‘hello’?” 

“Have you seriously never been in a fight before? Not even before you gamma-d yourself a deep-green alter-ego?” 

“Well, I tried not to. I’m a pacifist when I can be. There no shame in making things right, even if you don’t think its you that made them wrong.” 

Tony scoffs, runs his hands through his hair. “Do you think I’m wrong?” 

Bruce laughs in disbelief. “Tony, I literally wasn’t there. I was in space, fighting like a gladiator, and at one point, I punched a giant wolf. The information I have is clipped and tired and from what I gather, nobody cares anymore. Nobody but you and Steve. And Steve… He’s a bit of a mess right now, just like you. If you guys didn’t have anything in common before, you do now. Can’t you at least try not-caring together?” 

There’s a knock at the door. 

Tony fumes, for a moment, debating ignoring it and ignoring Bruce and ignoring  _ everything _ and just yelling, instead, so he doesn’t have to think about any of this, because fuck, he does not need this right now. He doesn’t need Bruce to come back into his life so suddenly, didn’t need him to leave to begin with, and he doesn’t need Steve fucking Rogers as a shoulder to cry on. 

What he needs is the kid he let die to come back safe.

He turns his head to see Pepper, holding what looks like soup in her hands. She looks so stressed. It makes his heart ache. 

He turns back to Bruce. The scientist looks like he has more he wants to say. And, if Tony’s being honest with himself, he doesn’t want him to stop, even if the words anger him. He’s missed the sound of his best friend’s voice, his logical reasoning, his whispered words. He’s missed  _ him.  _

Bruce sighs. “Just… think about it, okay? The universe might be torn apart right now, but… don’t let us be lost on you, too, Tony.” 

He leaves. 

Tony eats soup with Pepper, the wound at his side panging, his heart even more so. 

 

* * *

  
  


He’s so goddamn  _ cold.  _

The feeling jolts him awake, though he’d probably been there a minute. When his eyes open, his first instinct is to hop out of the water that was slowing his response time. Once he’s out, he realizes that he was only half in the water- in no danger of drowning, but still dangerous, because shit, that water was cold. 

He must be in a marsh, he notes to himself. The water is shallow and the ground around it never quite seems to level out. Blades of grass and roots to trees nowhere in sight spread across the soggy earth, and this is where Sam does a double take, because the grass is not the shade of grass, and the roots spawning loosely across the soil are not the shade of roots. 

He takes a second. 

Okay, not on earth. Dead? Maybe. In space? Possibly, but why? No, not in space. That can’t be it, or at least, not all of it. If he was dead, how could he tell? 

He pinches himself. It hurts. 

“Hmmm,” he says intelligently. “Well, this is messed up.” 

He tries to make it out of the bog. His feet are soaked, and he’s still shivering, and-wait. He can fly. Why doesn’t he just fly? 

He tests his pack. 

His wings spread with ease, and so does his grin. 

A command later, and his Redwing zips past his head, heading south. 

So, he does what is logical. He picks up his feet, squelching boots making contact with mud and grass in colours mud and grass should never be. 

He goes north. 

 

* * *

  
  


“You are stressed.” 

Strange ignores her. 

“You are  _ very _ stressed, I can tell. I don’t even want to touch your skin right now, knowing that, um, stress can kill you early, and you could kill me with your bad stress.” 

Strange tries very, very hard to ignore her. It is only the two of them, though, climbing down mountains lined with crimson grass to reach the fields he knows will take them to where they need to be, even if he has no way to know this, no stone to back him up  _ (because I gave it away- I had to, I HAD to).  _

It’s hard to ignore the only other person there on the side of the mountain, so close to him as they climb she can feel his aura. 

“I don’t know if the feeling  _ I  _ am feeling myself is stress. I think it is just worry. I never felt worried for more than one person-slash-planet at a time. Did you know one of the people I am worried about is a person and a planet at the same time, not just a person or just a planet? I meant that I used to only have one person-who-was-slash-planet to worry over, but now I have many people to be worried for, including a person who is sort of also a planet. I know that _ I  _ am just one thing. Both feeling-wise and species-wise. I am very worried and I am a-” 

Strange tried. He did, he really did. “Mantis,” he cuts her off, “We are in a land of which we should never be, and yet we were destined to end. Perhaps you can try to respect the severity of the situation with a silence to match?” 

She giggles. 

“Yes,” she says, “Very stressed indeed. I don’t need to touch you to know this! This is a first! You are projecting your stress!” 

Strange thinks that if the stress doesn’t kill him first, she will. 

 

* * *

  
  


“I am Groot,” he calls loudly, desperately. 

There is no response. 

“I… am Groot!” 

The silence is the worst response. It fills him with rage, a rage deep within him he doesn’t understand the potential of, will never use anyway.    
He tries walking. 

He prefers to stand and wait. 

Someone will come for him. 

His best friend had told him, should he get lost, hug the closest tree he can find. 

(It was probably a joke.)

Groot hugs himself. 

Dad would find him. 

 

* * *

  
  


“I don’t think we’re getting anywhere,” Peter says, eventually. They’d been silent for a while, him and Bucky. The only sounds around them had been their footfalls, and Peter’s anxious sighs, but he couldn’t take it anymore. 

Because they’d been walking for hours, and Peter wasn’t usually exhausted quickly, but right now, he just felt so  _ spent.  _

_ I hope Aunt May is okay,  _ he silently begs, has silently been begging since Bucky found him and distracted him for long enough that he wouldn’t think about it, about her, about  _ them(NedMJLizMayTonyWizardSpaceGuysNedTonyMAY-),  _ but… Bucky had eventually grown silent, too. 

Peter wonders who he was trying not to think of. 

“No,” Bucky agrees, stopping walking and looking Peter over as though he’d been knocked out of some deep thought and was only just reminded the kid was there, “No, we probably aren’t. You wanna stop for a bit?” 

Peter presses his lips into a tight line. “When I tell Tony something that’s the equivalent of, ‘there’s no hope, what have we ever achieved, nothing’, he usually tries to make me feel better and tell me what I’m not seeing. You know, ‘keep up hope, we’ve done more than you know, just keep moving’ kind of stuff.” 

Bucky looks slightly uncomfortable, for a moment, and Peter wonders if its because of what he said or because of who he’s talking about. The man drags a vibranium hand through his long, dirty hair. “Does he really?” he asks, almost incredulously. 

Peter shrugs. “Ya… Once.” 

Bucky motions to the grass, and Peter tiredly nods his head, sluggishly pulling himself down to sit. Bucky kneels near him. 

“He sounds like a caring guy,” Bucky says, far away, yet close to Peter, “he’s protecting you with that stuff. The whole, ‘it’s gonna be okay’ act. He wants to believe it just as much as you.” 

Peter frowns. “Well, don’t you?” 

The soldier smiles sadly. “I’d like that. But I think we’re way past that, at this point. I don’t know if we’ll be okay. I don’t know if you’ll be fine. No matter what happened, or where we are, or how we got here, or where everybody else is… We’re all dealing with losing each other. If we find each other again, nothing will ever be the same, because we’ve already been lost. Peter, I don’t want to lie for you, because I’d be lying  _ to _ you, and that doesn’t get us anywhere. We’re gonna rest, and then we’re gonna keep walking, and if we’re lucky, things will end up okay.” 

The kid thinks about this, for a moment. “Oh. So… you don’t want to give me false hope? That’s… I’d say realistic of you, but this whole thing is so surreal.” 

Bucky smiles quietly to himself. Peter lays back in the grass, eyes cast to the dark void of the sky above, the bright red sun in the corner of his vision flowing warmth through his body, but no actual heat.  He thinks about Uncle Ben’s red ashes, as they flew into the burning stars that flickered yet remained always above. 

His own body, failing itself as it slowly, agonizingly, gives way to the stars, grazing past Mr. Stark’s hands. 

_ You’re fine,  _ Tony had said to him. 

_ I don’t know if you’ll be fine, _ Bucky had said to him. 

_ I’m sorry,  _ was what Peter managed to say, and fuck, how he wishes he could have said more. 

_ I’m sorry,  _ was what Peter should have said, _ because I said this was your fault, you made the suit, you’ll think you made me die, too, and I’m so, so sorry, please don’t blame yourself, I want things to be okay, I’m sorry this will hurt you so much-  _

“Who are you talking about?” he asks, his voice so weak he isn’t sure if the soldier even heard him. Yet, there are eyes on Peter, he can feel it, so he keeps going, “The way you talked about losing each other… you just sounded like you miss someone an awful lot. Is… Is it Mr. Rogers?” 

Bucky is quiet. 

He’s quiet for a long, long while. 

Peter leans up, is about to open his mouth and apologize for overstepping his bounds, but stops himself. 

There are tears in his eyes, his human hand resting his chin, a slight tremble to the action. 

And, to be honest, Peter has only known this man for what was maybe a few solid hours, and fought him once before. 

He knows there must be good reasons for why they fought, even if Peter didn’t fully get any side beyond Mr. Stark’s. He knows that Captain America lost everything, including Mr. Stark, risking the fight at the airport. He knows that Bucky  _ was _ the fight at the airport, and he knows all too well, thanks to Mr. Stark’s fuming rants and tired rambles when he thinks Peter is out of earshot, which side Steve was on. 

And, of course, the shine in his eyes makes more than sense. 

Peter lays back down, but despite the stale, silent air around them, and Peter’s enhanced hearing; no sobs come. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe leave a comment if you liked it?


	4. Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mantis is getting sick of Strange's shit. Groot finally reunites with Peter and Drax. Tony has a reunion himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a while to get out there- I'll post the next chapter soon to make up for it.

The rage floating off the man, accompanied by a stoic expression that let nothing out, confused Mantis.

Strange was a very strange man. Mantis wonders is he chose his own name, of if his name chose him. He would walk with a ferocity in his steps, but his gaze held no determination, nor anger, nor stress. Yet, Mantis could feel it. He was trapping his emotions inside of his heart behind lock and key, and Mantis couldn’t help but peer through the keyhole.

She knew she wasn’t masking her own emotions nearly as well as he was. Mainly, because, well… why would she? What would that accomplish? She was terrified, and she was worried, and she was angry. She’d made a new family for herself and lost them so quickly. Why would she hide that pain?

Why would _he?_

“Watch your step here,” the man instructs blandly. _Yes, blandly, that’s a good word for him,_ Mantis thinks to herself as she steps around the crumbling ledge to follow in his footsteps. Bland, the perfect word to describe a man who would not allow himself to feel.

“Thanks,” she responds, letting the momentary optimism she feels at his assistance seep into her voice. Strange says nothing, just continues, occasionally looking back at her to ensure she’s keeping up. She is.

After another hour or so of climbing downwards, she insists they stop and rest.

“There’s no point in that,” he says blandly, not looking at her. Bland, bland, bland. “If we rest before we make it down this ravine, we won't be able to see what’s down there. There could be others who need help. We can rest after we’ve determined if there’s anybody to group up with.”

At this, Mantis makes a face and whines bitterly. She stomps her foot, and Strange pauses to return her gaze, his own a wall. “No,” she barks, “I am exhausted. I am not used to this! You look me in the eyes and tell me you are not also exhausted,” she dares.

Strange sighs. He looks back down to where the end of the ravine would soon be, then back up to Mantis, his eyes betraying nothing. “I’ve done worse in training.”

Mantis growls dangerously, and at the noise, Strange seems to falter.

She can literally _feel_   his facade shatter.

“However,” He starts hesitantly, and upon seeing her unrelenting glare, continues; “My feet _are_ starting to get sore. We can rest for a few moments.”

Mantis smiles and wastes no time adjusting her position on the ground, her smile growing when Strange slowly follows suit.

She tries not to brag, because bragging is mean, but she most certainly wants to brag at the relief she can feel coming off his skin the moment he allows himself to relax.

 

* * *

  


Groot isn’t sure how long it had been. He’s pretty sure he’d fallen asleep hugging himself, waiting for someone to find him.

His eyes re-adjust to the red, red world around him, and almost misses it when he sees something small and also red dart through the sky. Yet, it moves, unlike the rest of the still world, which was jostled by not even a breeze. No, that little red dot in the sky moves, and it moves _fast._

Before Groot knows what he’s doing, he’s running after it, stretching his arms as high as he can after the dot to try and grab it, yet he can’t keep up and stretch quick enough to grab it at the same time.

He strikes, trying to hit it out of the sky, yet can’t reach it. He runs after it, moving as fast as his teenaged legs can carry him, desperate to not lose the only possible sign of life he’s met since he’d appeared here.

“I am Groot!” he screams at the dot, begging it to hear him, to turn around, but it keeps on.

So, Groot does as well.

He runs after the dot with all his might.

 

* * *

 

“Tony.”

The voice behind him locks him on the spot, and yet, he hardly registers it. He knows who it is without even looking up from where he’s slumped over the desk, reading the multiple reports Pepper brought him about the damages to his city he’d missed out on while he was on Titan.

Pepper hadn’t brought them to him willingly. He’d all but demanded to see just what had happened to the world around them, the world he’d only glimpsed on the half-conscious plane ride over.

Wakanda looked like hell. He’d heard it was damn near a place of paradise, but it was so _still._ Its fields were the wreckage of a warzone he’d seen all too much, blood staining the grass so deep he could see it from the room they’d given him.

He’d needed to know what the rest of the world was like. He’d demanded- fuck, he’d _begged_ \- Pepper to tell him, but she couldn’t find the words, couldn’t bring her mouth to form the sentences. So, she’d organized her thoughts the best way she knew how- she’d made them into a file. She’d hesitated to hand them over, but Tony had snatched them before she could overthink it.

That was last night. It was getting near to the afternoon, and Tony had not so much as left his desk.

“Tony,” the voice tries again, and Tony blinks, his energy so far spent in all the wrong directions that he couldn’t even afford to turn around.

Yet, that’s the voice of the man he’d wanted nothing more than to look in the eyes and scream into for ages. That’s the voice of a man who deserved to be looked in the eyes, and the voice of a man who doesn’t deserve to be looked in the eyes, all at the same time.

It takes a great deal of effort and self-restraint, but he finally sits up from where he was hunched over at his temporary desk. He takes a deep breath, exhales, then turns in his chair.

It’s like looking in a mirror.

Steve’s hair was, for once, ungroomed- it stuck up in various places, like he’d woken up in a hurry and had lost the will to care. The bags under his eyes, however, suggested that he’d not slept at all. His eyes were guarded, but Tony could see the slightest tremble to his hands.

Tony gulps, tries to open his mouth to say something but cannot even fathom a word when he looked like _that._

“You look like shit,” he whispers, not sure if the words actually left his mouth until he sees Steve’s mouth twitches lightly at the corner.

The blond straightens his back slightly, which makes him look more confident, somehow. Tony wonders if its because he didn’t start with yelling. He wishes he could, but all his energy was seeped from him, leaking like blood onto the files on his desk.

“Listen, Tony…” he starts, and Tony’s already feeling the words grit on his nerves. “We’ve… I’ve missed you. And I-I don’t think I can keep fighting you. I understand why you were angry- I always have. And it… it’s something that fighting won’t fix anymore. I don’t know if you agree with me, but…” he looks away, takes a breath. Tony can see his hands start to clench, steadying his shaking slightly, and his eyes return to Tony, a new hardness to them when he says, “I don’t want to lose you, too.”

And there it is.

The words Tony doesn’t know if he can bear to hear. He pushes himself up, wavering slightly as his chair rattles backwards and forcing himself not to lean on the desk when he turns to properly face the man.

The man who’d harbored a murder who’d killed his parents, chose him over Tony every time. He’d picked a team of Tony’s own friends to stand against him, forced Tony to do the same. He’d almost lost Rhodey, and Rhodey had lost a part of himself. He’d left him to die.

A part of Tony had died.

Seeing that man again, asking for forgiveness- no, a _standstill-_ could not hurt him more than he’d already been hurt.

 “Tony,” Steve says, and dammit, he needs to stop saying his name like _that,_ like it was a burden on his tongue, weighing himself down with every moment the iron soldier does not answer, “I _can’t_ lose you too.”

Tony laughs. It hurts to watch Steve flinch. “You already lost me. Don’t you get that? Don’t you-”

“I know. I know, I know I hurt you, Tony, and I-I can’t apologize enough for that-”

“You haven’t apologized at all for that! All you’ve done is try and tape together a pot that you dropped to begin with, Rogers. And I… I can’t pick up the pieces anymore. I’ve tried, okay? I’ve tried to move on, to pretend that I didn’t drop the exact same pot as you, to rebuild my life after everything that happened between us. It might have even worked, for a while, but now I’ve… I’ve lost h-him, and it’s my fault for allowing myself to think things would be okay. It’s my fault, Steve! And I don’t know what to do, but I am going to find a way to fix this, and you…” he jabs a quivering finger at his chest, and Steve lets him, “you had damn well better understand that I am going to get him back, whether you stand by my side or aim a fist at my face.”

The blond swallows, and despite his eyes beginning to glisten, he stands straight. Like a soldier, always like a soldier.

“Ya,” he agrees quietly. “Ya, I get it, Tony. And… By your side. I’ll always be by your side.”

Tony spins around, crossing his arms. He can’t bear to look at the man any longer. He can feel the genuineness of the words, but still, can’t believe the mouth they come from. Too much damage had been done. He’d bled too much.

Yet, Steve doesn’t seem to be done.

“Tony… Forgive me for asking, but… who’d you lose? Was- is Rhodey-”

“Rhodey’s here. He’s fine. It wasn’t him.”

Steve’s quiet for a moment.

“Then who?”

Tony’s fists clench. The words leave his mouth with such a lack of force, Tony doesn’t know if Steve even hears him.

“A good kid."

 

* * *

 

 

“This is boring,” Drax groans again, and Peter wants to sock him but does his best not to. “I’m bored. Something must happen soon, or I will become irked.”

“Drax,” Peter stops walking, spinning around to the man. “Will you stop bitching? This whole situation sucks dicks, and you whining makes it just a little bit worse, like, per whine.”

Drax puffs out his chest in annoyance. “No matter how homosexual the situation may be, Quill, I bitch the perfect amount for someone in this situation. This place is too red and quiet. It makes it almost impossible to see anything.”

The terran rolls his eyes, keeping on walking. He couldn’t help but agree with some of that statement (key word: some), but he was doing his best to push through and keep going. They’d have to find something eventually. Right?

Although, they had been walking for what felt like hours. Peter hadn’t seen anybody else (not even somebody dead) in a long while and was tempted to ask Drax if he’d seen anything. Yet, a part of him didn’t want to ask, because he didn’t want to feel like he was going crazy if Drax said no. Maybe he was. This place sucked so hard that it could literally be making him go crazy.

They have another few moments of silence before Drax breaks it again.

“This sucks,” he observes, and Peter thinks he’s going to lose it.

“Ya man, it sucks!” he snaps, “you know what else sucks? You not shutting the hell up. I’m trying to think over here.”

Drax laughs. “Think? You? Bah! You’re trying to brood, is what you’re trying to do. You’re brooding, Quill.”

Spinning to face the man while walking backwards, Peter crosses his arms. “I am not- I don’t brood. I’m trying to come up with a plan.”

Drax laughs again, and Peter ignores him, spinning back around to continue brooding.

Behind them, there is a faint noise. Both Peter and Drax freeze, slowly turning their heads to face the sound. It comes again, sounding vaguely familiar and damn near closer. Peter’s heart leaps in his chest, and he shoots a glance at Drax to ensure he’s not imagining it (again). Drax’s narrowed eyes promise Peter he’s not.

So, they both take off down the hillside, pushing red weeds out of their faces as they go to force their way towards the familiar cries. As they come closer to the noise, they’re able to faintly see the source in the distance. It’s rather far away, so it’s harder to make out than Peter would have liked, but the small brown figure moving at surprising speeds was hard to mistake.

“TREE!” Drax screams, and the figure abruptly stops running, coming to a halt so quickly he falls over face-first and skids a while. Peter and Drax both watch, sucking air in through their teeth for lack of a better response. Peter notices a red dot in the sky that he must have been chasing, and can’t help but follow its movement as it travels across the sky. Peter pulls his phaser out of his belt, aware that Drax had moved away from his side and was now running towards Groot at an astounding speed.

Peter, however, trained his gun on the dot in the sky, determined to stop its movement and figure out what it was before it could get away. He shoots, and the blast fires through the sky for nearly four seconds before colliding with the dot, which starts to fall from the sky before leveling out at the last second and turning to face Peter. Peter brings a hand to his forehead to try and block out the big ass red sun blocking his vision, squinting his eyes to see the dot heading towards him. Peter’s eyes widen as he realizes the dot was a small, red-painted aircraft. A _really_ small, red-painted aircraft.

It was coming at him quickly, too.

Peter, regretting his life decisions, takes off down the hill after Drax, running towards him and Groot. Groot’s face, now better in frame, look ecstatic to see him.

“Groot!” he cries out joyfully, and Peter tackles the tree. They both fall over just as the aircraft dives for their heads, circling around and coming to charge again.

“Groot, what is that thing? Why were you chasing it?” Peter demands.

“I am Groot!” Groot explains, and Peter’s eyes widen.

“Fuck, really?” Peter repeats, then helps Groot back up. “Drax, Groot, get your hands up.”

Drax blinks. “Why?”

Peter bites his teeth. “Because if that thing really is from Earth, it might just be a scout. Put your hands up to show it we aren’t the bad guys here.”

The two of them share a look before they raise their hands in the air alongside Peter’s.

The aircraft swoops at them again, then slows before pausing right in front of them. It’s dead silent aside from its slight whirring noise, so silent Peter wondered if it was military, like some kind of a reconnaissance drone.

Then, there’s a click from the aircraft. Immediately after, as though from a microphone, a voice emits from the tiny ship.

“Who the hell are you guys?” it asks, its voice brisk and demanding. The ship hovers directly in front of them, and Drax starts to lower his hands before Peter sends him a dangerous look, silently demanding he keep them up. Drax raises them again, looking mildly annoyed.

“Um,” Peter starts intelligently, “I’m Peter Quill, but you can call me Star-Lord, everybody else does.”

“Nobody does that.”

“Shut up, Drax. This is Drax,” he twirls his hand in place, and the bot turns ever so slightly to follow it, “And that’s-“

“Hey, it’s the tree guy that was with Thor. Root, right?” The voice from the speaker in the bot exclaims.

“I am Groot!” Groot corrects.

The ship lifts itself in the air slightly. “Right, sorry, Groot. Sorry, we weren’t properly introduced, but I saw you fighting. You kicked ass, man. I’m Sam Wilson, and this robot is Red Wing, my auto-piloted scout. He’s got a GPS, so I’m gonna come meet up with you guys. That cool?”

“Um, ya, that’s cool, but-“

“Great, you don’t seem to be that far away. I’ll fly over and be there in about an hour, okay? Don’t go anywhere,” Sam instructs.

Peter blinks, processing this, before his mouth falls agape. _“Fly?”_

"Ya," Sam agrees. When he doesn't provide an explanation, Peter rolls his eyes and drops his arms, watching as Drax and Groot follow his movement. 

"I am Groot," asks the tree quietly.

Peter clenches his fists. "No. No, he's... not with us," he admits, realizing that the raccoon had been with Groot, and if Groot was asking where he was... 

Drax wastes no time and pulls the tree into a large, probably painful hug. "I... am Groot!" he cries in response, and Peter smiles sadly. 

"We've missed you too, buddy." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Groot's dialogue is really hard lmao. Anyway y'all wanna... leave me a comment if you liked????? I'm not sure if anybody is even reading this, based on the comments I've received lol. Oh well. Next chapter coming soon anyway!


	5. Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony calls a meeting, while May meets up with Peter's friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so uh sorry for the wait? It's not like anybody is reading this anyway. I really liked writing this but with the new movie coming out and getting ready to quickly discount everything I've written, I think I got uninspired? I forgot to post this chapter. Here it is! The next chapter is also pretty far done, so I think I'm gonna post those two a week apart and then write one or two more to conclude, or try and tie it into part two after it comes out? Not sure yet.  
> Anyway, I'm really excited to be posting for this again, and I hope somebody out there is excited I'm posting for this again too!

_“-ess so. I mean, I don’t know,” says a recognizable voice, the sound sending a familiar pang through Tony’s head. He’s quicker at recognizing Peter’s voice this time, but can’t see him, can’t open his own eyes. Or, maybe they are open, and he just can’t see anymore. Maybe that’s what this has come to._

_An older man hums. Tony feels his own fists clench but doesn’t recall making them do so. He knows who is there, wants to warn Peter, tell him to get away from that man. His mouth wont open. He’s starting to be able to make out the red picture, can feel the grass wrapped around his arms and legs, keeping him pinned like chains. He tries desperately to grab it and pull it off him, but when he touches his arms, there’s nothing there. Yet he can’t move. He can’t do anything. He can’t_ protect him.

_“Really? Smart kid like you, I would have figured you had your whole life plan written on a slip of paper and stuck to, like, a cork board or something.”_

_Peter bursts out laughing, like he hadn’t been turned to dust before Tony’s eyes, in Tony’s fucking arms. “Nope. I’ve… got like, and idea of what I want- or, what I wanted- to do with my life. I wanted to be Spider-man until I got too old and my bones started to shatter or whatever. Maybe pass down the suit to someone young and dedicated, maybe get married early and have some kids of my own. I wouldn’t pass down the suit to one of my own kids, though, too much stress,” the kid admits, wrapping his arms around himself._

_Bucky ponder this for a moment, and Tony himself feels tears well in his eyes at the past-tense._

_“What if…” he starts, thinking his wording over, “one of your kids gets your powers passed down to them genetically?”_

_Peter freezes. “Oh, well. Um. I think my heat bills would rise a lot, since part of my powerset is not being able to thermoregulate. And I’d have to tell all of them they were allergic to peppermint, so none of them try it and have the same reaction to it I did. I used to love peppermint! Then I got bit by a radioactive spider and suddenly… yikes, nope. Ned tried to pass me a peppermint candy cane in class and I yote it across the classroom on instinct. Raised a few eyebrows.”_

_Bucky laughs. “You… yote it?”_

_“Oh. Uh. Ya,” the kid starts, searching for words, “it means throw in like, past tense. You could say ‘yeeted’ too, since its really the past tense of ‘yeet’.”_

_There’s silence for a while again as Bucky clearly tries to break this down._

_Peter clears his throat. “Maybe I’ll just adopt.”_

 Tony wakes up with a headache.

“’ony?” Pepper mumbles next to him, shifting in the bed so her arms were around him. The gesture used to make him feel claustrophobic, but now, it was as comforting as he needed it to be. “Tony, what are you talking about?”

 The man blinks sleep from his eyes, realizing they’re crusty around the edges from where he barely won his fight against tears. “What, did I say something?”

 Pepper’s eyes are slowly starting to open, and Tony couldn’t help but feel guilty looking into those exhausted eyes. He’d probably woken her up. “Ya… you were calling out to Peter. Were you dreaming about him?”

 Tony sits up in the bed suddenly. “I don’t think I was dreaming. I’ve never had a dream where a kid explains slang to another man and I overhear from some red grass I can’t seem to get out of. Have you?”

 As he expected, Pepper looks at him blankly. Yet, the more Tony thinks about it, pushes through his grief and really thinks about it… on the plane. He’d dreamed of Peter on the plane, when he’d passed out- had seen him clear as day, and also on the spaceship. He’d thought he was just thinking of him, reaching for him so desperately, he was hallucinating even in his dreams. But what if…

 They were so faint. Such small, faint, out of reach snippets of the kid he’d let die. And yet Tony had no doubt that of the voices he’d heard, one of them was him. The other, however, raised a question.

 He’d figured out who it was after hearing just a few words come from his mouth. Hearing the voice again, out of context and with no face, made it harder to identify; yet, Tony had a feeling it was the same man. Barnes. It had to have been Barnes. It _had_ to have been.

 Steve had said he’d lost him. Yet maybe…

 “Oh my god,” Tony breathes out, and he can feel Pepper tense around him.

 “Tony. What’s wrong?”

 His eyes move to Peppers’, taking in every drop of colour he can make out in the dark of night. He’s so grateful to have those eyes in his life. He kisses her forehead, holding his lips there for so long he doesn’t realize tears have started to sit in the back of his eyes once more.

 They don’t fall. He pulls away, looking into her eyes once more, a determination that had died alongside Peter cascading into his own.

 “We need to call a meeting,” he says, and Pepper’s eyes go wide for a moment before she lets out a terse nod, already unravelling herself from Tony.

 

 May is not prepared to deal with what she knew would happen, eventually. She hears the knock at her door, and a part of her thinks, _Peter’s home._

 Yet she knows Peter’s knock.

 That’s not it.

 She’d just gotten off a long, long, _long_ shift at the hospital. So many people had been hurt… car drivers disappearing, their vehicles slamming into those who didn’t. Planes had crashed, boats had capsized, and children had lost their parent’s.

 Parent’s had lost their children.

 May had lost Peter.

 There was a woman at the hospital, who’d come in screaming, crying her heart out at the news that her baby, due in just a week, had simply disappeared from her womb.

 May had gotten off her fifteen-hour straight shift, unable to take her car home with the wreckage in the road and had to walk the whole way. Her whole body ached, but her heart more so.

 She’d called Peter forty-three times.  
 He hadn’t answered once.

 Eventually, she’d fallen to the floor sobbing. She’d been there for hours, now, still clutching her phone.

 Then the door knocks, and she knows its not Peter, yet she still forces herself to stand. There’s only one person who would knock so timidly and so low down on her door.

 She rushes over too it, tears already re-swelling up in her eyes even as she swings the door open. Without even a moment’s hesitation, she engulfs the boy at her doorframe in the largest hug she could fathom. Ned doesn’t even look surprised, just hesitates for a moment before returning the hug.

 “May-” he starts, because she’d insisted Peter’s best friend not call him Mrs. Parker, couldn’t handle that after Ben’s death.

 “Thank god, you’re okay,” May whispers to him, finally releasing him. She doesn’t have to ask him why he’s here, because he’d only be here for one reason. He’s looking for Peter. He doesn’t have to ask her if she knows where he is, though. Her eyes hold the message, and within seconds of gazing into them, Ned bursts out crying too.

 “He- he left the bus to go fight, a-and he didn’t come back, and I saw the news and-”

 “The news?” May repeats, stopping the boy’s stammering. She’d been in the hospital this whole time, she’d not had the chance to even think to watch the news, and almost berets herself for it. Before Ned can open his mouth again, a girl standing next to him pops her head into frame. She was so quiet and still that May didn’t even notice her. She gently shoves Ned out of the way, and even though May had never actually seen this girl since Peter had never brought her over to the house before, she recognized her demeanour enough to place M.J.’s face.

 “Some of them are still trying to cover what’s going on,” she explains easily, like she’d already come to terms with it. “They’ve got some footage of what happened with Spider-man, who, yes, I know is Peter. Showed him getting on the donut ship, showed the ship going into space, and reminded us so kindly that it hadn’t come back. Peter and Tony Stark are still reported missing. A lot of people are,” she whispers the last part, glaring off to the side.

 May takes a moment. So, her baby was in space. Either that, or he was turned to dust with the rest of them.

 “That explains why I haven’t been able to reach Mr. Stark,” May mumbles to herself, not really processing the news and deciding to push through it anyway.

 Ned suddenly looks uncomfortable. “W-well… that’s the thing. I tried calling him, too- Peter gave me some important number in case something bad happened to-to him. He didn’t answer, s-so the next person I tried to call was Happy, and… He did.”

 May’s eyes widen. “And?”

 The boy’s eyes water and he looks away. M.J. steps in again, putting a comforting hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Happy said Mr. Stark made it back to earth with some blue lady, but Peter wasn’t with him. Happy arranged a plane ride for him to get to a place called Wakanda in, to apparently meet up with the rest of the Avengers. Tony wouldn’t tell him what happened to Peter.”

 May’s breath catches in her throat. She looks down at these two children at her doorstep, watching M.J. grip Ned’s shaking shoulder with a clench that seemed to be the only thing holding her up. Ned was staring at his shoes, and M.J. refused to look either of them in the eyes.

 She wonders how Peter managed to find such loyal friends.

 “Okay,” she says, mostly to herself. “Okay. And what about you two? Are-are you hurt?”

 M.J. blinks in surprise, and Ned’s eyes finally rise to meet hers. “No, we’re okay. Um… My parents are in the hospital, and I don’t- I can’t go home to an empty house. I don’t know where my brother is, he won’t pick up the phone, and… M.J.’s parents are gone, we think. They won’t answer her phone, either, and they weren’t at her house when we checked.”

 May feels tears well in her eyes yet again, and she pulls the two of them into yet another hug. M.J. continues to look surprised, but Ned melts into her hug.

 “I’ll go make up the spares,” May whispers. “Come in, come on. You must be starving, have you eaten? I’ll pop on some grilled cheese, okay?”

 Ned opens his mouth to politely refuse, but M.J. kicks him. “Thank you, May. It means a lot to us.”

 May nods and gets up. She ushers the two inside and busies herself.

 Peter’s not her only child, today.

 

 “Tony, what’s this about? It’s early as hell, man,” Rhodey complains, and even though him and Tony had barely had any time to catch up (since he’d practically locked himself away from everybody, and the only people who were stable enough to visit him were Bruce and Steve), Tony didn’t have the energy to explain until everybody was fully gathered.

 He scans the large table that Pepper had arranged for them to all meet in, looks over the faces of those he knows and those he doesn’t, those just now coming and taking their seats and those who had been there seconds after he called the meeting.

 Tony was seated at the head of the table, Pepper sitting directly to his right and Bruce directly to his left. Bruce was the first person to arrive after Tony had called the meeting, and he even looked out of breath arriving. It made Tony’s heart warm, but he ignored it to focus on what was important- figuring out what he wanted to say.

 Beside Bruce was Thor, who looked oddly unsettled sitting at the table. Hiss golden eyes gaze at Tony, who returns them with his own tired, blank stare. Unsatisfied, Thor gazes over to Bruce, who’s eyes are much warmer than Tony’s. Thor smiles, visibly relaxing in his seat. Tony wonders, but ignores his curiosity at, what brought those two so close together.

 By Thor’s side is the raccoon he’d heard so much about. Rocket is curled up in the armrests of the chair, visibly asleep, and Tony recalls that Thor had literally carried the barely awake animal into the room under his arm.

 Besides Pepper was Rhodey, and besides him were two Wakandan woman who’d greeted him at his arrival but that hadn’t introduced themselves. Tony realizes that one of these women were surprisingly young, and ignores the pang in his heart.

 Next to them is Nat, who Tony catches shooting looks at Bruce, who stares either at the table or at his lap with too much of an intensity to notice her.

 Entering late is Nebula, who plops down into the seat next to her, arms crossed and looking just as pissed off as Tony would have expected of her.

 Tony stares at the few survivors, swallowing his emotions and pushing his chair out behind him to stand and properly address them all.

 “Is… this everyone?”

 “It is now,” says Steve, just now walking into the room and sitting at the opposing end of the table from Tony. “Please, go ahead.”

 Tony bites back a groan, taking a deep breath and coming right out with it. He just barely misses seeing Thor elbow the raccoon next to him into waking up.

 “Okay. Nice looking gang we’ve got here. So, thanks for coming. Sorry it’s early. We all- or, at least, those of us from Earth here- know about the battle for Earth that took place a few years ago, when Loki lead a bunch of crazy angry aliens to New York and tried to kill everybody. Correct?”

 A few nods around the table. Thor looks away, Bruce and Rocket’s eyes following the movement almost pitifully.

 “I grabbed a missile headed for Earth and shot it into space, with me along with it. Since then, I’d gotten a lot of weird dreams. Lots of images of space, lots of aliens, mostly flashbacks. Lately, I’ve been having the same kind of dreams. Just… shorter, and… I’m not sure these ones are dreams.”

 There’s quiet for a moment as people process this. Rocket stands angrily, leaning against the table and glaring at Tony. “Did you seriously drag us all out of the beds we can barely sleep in just to discuss your _own_ sleeping habits? You can’t be serious!”

 The man sighs. “Ya, well, that’s the thing. I thought they were just dreams until last night’s. It was hard to make sense of, but for sure, I could make out two people, two people who I know disintegrated, because one of them died in my arms on Titan.”

 Nebula looks up. “The kid,” she says, and Tony nods.

 Steve blinks. “You’ve mentioned a kid before. Who was it, Tony?”

 Tony clenches his fists against his sides. “That doesn’t matter. What matters is-“

 “Wait, I’m sorry, I’ve only been gone for like, two years. Right?” Bruce pipes up, and the iron soldier glares at the man dangerously, “Tony, did I miss you and Pepper having a kid? There’s no way I-“

 “He’s not my kid!” Tony snaps, and Bruce freezes before leaning back in his chair. Tony relaxes his hands and sighs. “Sorry, I just- he’s just a kid that was too young to get wrapped up in all of this, okay? And-“

 “How old was he?” says the Wakandan girl, Shuri, who looks just as young as Peter.

 Tony looks to Pepper for help, unsure of how to proceed with all the interjections. Pepper leans over the edge of the table to look at the girl. “He’s seventeen,” she supplies, and the girl scoffs.

 “Then he is my age. Do not look down upon age, old man. I can assure you, the dust does not discriminate between you and I,” she bites out, and the older woman next to her- Okoye is her name, he thinks- smiles lightly before it vanishes a second later.

 “…Okay. Alright, fine. Either way, he’s gone. And what I was trying to say is that I’ve seen him, three times now, in my dreams. And he’s not alone. He’s- he with Barnes.”

The silence that forms this time is almost dangerous as heads slowly turn to face Steve.

 The man’s back straightens in his chair and he leans into the table. “How do you know?” Steve asks, his voice empty.

 At this, Tony pauses. He’s never heard Steve sound so… cold. He was clearly trying to put up a barrier and look at the situation in a strictly professional manner, and while Tony respected that, he almost wishes he didn’t.

 “I recognize his voice. There’s… no way it would be anybody else.”

 After a long, tense moment, Bruce speaks up again. “Well, what were they saying?”

 Shooting his friend a quick, grateful glance, Tony clears his throat. “Well, the first dream I had, it was so short that if they said anything, I missed it. The second time, I could hear them talking about a red sun. Then, last night, they… um, the kid was explaining to Barnes what the word “yote” means.”

 A few stunned and confused seconds later, and the teenage girl bursts out laughing.

 “Shuri!” Okoye barks, but Shuri is currently busy losing it. Everybody waits, both patiently and tensely, for her to finish. The woman next to her looks very disappointed.

 “I’m-I’m sorry,” she apologizes through her giggles. “It’s just- yes, these dreams must be more than dreams, because there is no way a man your age would ever dream of a teenager explaining the definition of ‘yote’ to another, much older man.”

 Tony blinks. “I can never tell when you teenagers are being sarcastic or not.”

 Okoye looks tired. “She’s not.”

 “Well? What’s it mean?” Thor demands, his elbow propped on the table.

 “… the dream, or the word ‘yote’?” he asks hesitantly. Thor nods, and Tony takes that as a ‘yes for both’.

 “Okay then. What it means for the dream is that they’re alive, somewhere. I don’t know what they’re doing _together,_ per say,” he adds, throwing a look at Steve as though that was somehow his fault, “because we were on Titan when he… disappeared, and Barnes would have been on Earth. I don’t know what they’re connection could be.”

 Steve lets out a breath nobody seems to realize he’d been holding. “Alright. This is a lead. Tony, when you went through the wormhole, you said yourself that you were somehow… connected to it, almost. You had visions. And now, you’re having them again. If you’re seeing them, that means that there’s something to see. If there’s something there, all that’s left to do is find a way to get to it. Can you explain everything that happened in all three of these dreams? There might be even a small detail that can help us later down the line.”

 At Steve’s orders, heads turn to Tony in anticipation. Deciding that, no matter how many choice words he still had for the guy, finding Peter was more important; he nods lightly. The table seems to sag in relief, save for those who didn’t know about the quarrel to begin with.

 “Wait, hold up,” Rocket growls, leaning on the table. “What the hell is going on here, some old guy has a weird dream and just like that, we’re supposed to believe that everybody is okay? Because you have some special connection with, what, some kid? Because I’ve seen humans- one, actually, in particular- do things out of desperation before, and ignore the real issues simply because they’re too hard to deal with.”

 Tony opens his mouth to argue his point again, but the raccoon cuts him off. “No. No, we ain’t doing this. They’re- they’re _dead_ , man, and if we wanna do something about it, what we gotta do is find that purple testicle that killed them in the first place. Because if we actually know anything, it’s that _he’s not dead_. And that’s unacceptable!”

 “I agree with Rocket,” Nebula adds. Tony shoots her a glare, and she counters with her own. “Thanos is a monster. He has stolen every part of me that matters and turned it to machine. He has killed my sister. He has destroyed those whom I had hoped to call my friends,” she sends a look towards Rocket, “and he believes, he truly believes, that he has done the world a favor. I will not rest until his heart has been ripped from his chest, just as he has done to mine, and to everybody in this room.”

 Tony sighs. “I know. I know, but-“

“But what?” Rocket counters, slamming his fist on the table. “This isn’t a rescue mission. This is war. And we’ve already lost! So you can follow your stupid dream leads, or-“

 “It wasn’t just a dream! It was _Peter!”_

This makes Rocket freeze. “What?”

 Tony rubs this bridge of his nose, trying to focus on his words. “It… the kid. I wouldn’t be dreaming about him if-if it wasn’t something more. Especially, I wouldn’t be dreaming about Barnes. And them together, under a red sun with red grass, in a place that’s dark as the night yet bright as a lamp at the same god damn time. It doesn’t add up. It doesn’t make sense. I know dreams don’t make sense, that’s what makes them dreams, but- but guys, I can’t- I don’t know how to convince you. I’m just hoping, in a time where nobody can afford to give anything anymore, that you at least give me your trust. Because if I’m wrong, then I’m wrong. But if I’m not, then… what else do we have to lose, guys?”

 The table goes deathly silent. Tony chances a glance at Steve, who has been surprisingly quite the whole exchange. He doesn’t look up from the table.

 Rocket lowers himself in the chair. “… Peter… is-is also the name of a human I know. Literally the only human I knew before this whole mess, and he’s not even fully human. And he’s dust. And… thinking about him, and-and everyone else right now, and it’s quite literally _everybody_ for me- I can’t, man. But…” He clenches his fist. Thor puts a hand on his shoulder, his large hand engulfing the mammal, and Rocket steadies himself slightly, “… If you can reach into death and look your friends in the eye, then fuck, go nuts. But don’t look me in the eye and tell me _my_ Peter is alive just because yours might be.”

 He pushes his chair out and hops the distance to the floor. The room is quiet as he lets himself out, tail dragging on the floor, the door closing loudly on its own behind him.

 Tony rubs his face. He looks around the table, at all the faces that look a little sick, and a lot exhausted. It’s not just from lack of sleep, anymore.

 “… Get some rest, everyone. I’ve said what I needed to say,” he dismisses, pushing his own chair out and swiftly exiting though the other set of doors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Strange cries! Can't wait


	6. End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strange and Mantis- T'Challa, too- get a lead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last few snippets I had written for this before I lost all inspiration and Endgame came out anyway so there's no point to writing it anymore, but I'm still gonna post it just to get it off my word doc. Enjoy lmao   
> BTW no endgame spoilers in this since I wrote this ages ago and never did anything with it

“Can you feel anybody out there?” Strange asks, and Mantis frowns.

“Distance emotions are much harder when there is nothing but air and grass and also, like, maybe some mountains around us. Stop asking me,” she snaps, crossing her arms. Since they finished their climb, they’d been walking through dry, crimson dirt and finally some purple-red grass. Strange had asked her to feel around them for people about twelve times, and every time, all she could feel was Strange’s irritation masked behind a face of patience. He was very good at looking like he had all day yet screaming in his own head, and Mantis could hear it, and it was getting ridiculous.

“There’s going to be somebody soon. The question is just of when, and who. Keep a lookout,” he instructs again, and Mantis has never been very violent a person, but she wants to pat the man roughly on the head until he starts to feel it. What was that called? Oh ya. She wants to slap him.

“How about you use one of your magic portal tricks to just… get us out of here, hmm? You are a magic man, yes?”

Strange doesn’t slow his pace as they trudge through the grass. “I don’t know the geography of this place, so I cannot picture a way out of here. And trying to get back to Earth entirely won’t work, either. My portals can’t jump through dimensions without some dark magic aiding it, which I don’t have and won’t use anyway. If I tried to picture a person who I saw disintegrate like us, perhaps your human friend, for example,” he explains, and Mantis perks up at the mention of Peter, “it wouldn’t take me to his location, it would take me to him. As in, the portal would open on him, and split him in half. A kink I’ve been meaning to work out and haven’t gotten around to yet.”

Mantis groans. “Okay, so if your portals can split people in half, why did you not use the portal on Thanos’ hands? That way he wouldn’t be able to fit the glove on. Why would you not do this?”

This makes Strange pause. He turns to look at her, the mask on his face giving him an annoyed expression, but she could see beyond it.

“… Well, because-” he starts, mouth hanging open as he tries to form his next words, but Mantis can practically see the buffering symbol float over his head. “It’s- look. The gauntlet could just be attached to the stump where his hand was, and he could have wished for a new hand, or used the gauntlet without the physical act of snapping, anyway, so really-”

“But your portal could have taken the severed hands and gauntlet far away, no?” she asks sweetly, and Strange’s face drops.

“That’s not a perfects solution, through, he would have just-”

“You didn’t think of it, did you?”

Strange tenses. “We… didn’t have much time to come up with a plan. And no matter what, we had to end up here, because I saw the possibilities, and-”

“In all of them, did any of them think to cut off his hands and transport the gauntlet far away?” She prods. He is quiet. She continues, “You are a funny man. You are a man, none the less. Man is people, and people make mistakes. You are allowed to have not thought of everything. Many of the times when life is happening, I am not even thinking of anything!”

To her surprise, this doesn’t seem to help. He falls to the ground and kneels in the dirt, staring into the red, red sun, eyes vacant and for once, his emotions matching. “Oh, god,” he mumbles, “In all the possibilities but one, we lost, and in none of them did I even- It’s my f-fault…”

She kneels down next to him. “No. No, not your fault. Thanos is not a man, and he makes no error of man. He is a monster and should be judged as such. You are not the cause of his actions. You and I and Peter and everyone did what they could as best they could, as people. People are not perfect- I learned this after spending so much time with someone who was not a person. Then, when I finally came to learn of people, I learned they were so much harder on themselves, and those around them, and so imperfect- just as I am! I am like them, not like the planet that used to be my master.”

“…What?”

“My point is we are working towards being better. Monsters do not have to work for anything. They will never be better. They can never try. But we tried. And we all failed! But we are still somewhere. You have a plan, yes? Then you are still trying! That is all that is your fault.”

Strange does not say anything. Mantis does her best not to listen to his emotions. He deserves to keep them to himself. If he wants to wear a mask, that is simply another fault of man she is honoured to stand next to. Or, kneel besides. She’d get up when he was ready.

He sits for a while longer, staring at the dirt, fists clenched. “Mantis…” he starts, his voice small, “Th-”

“Oh!” she exclaims suddenly, hopping up and looking around them rapidly. “There is someone! I can feel an aura!” 

Quickly, Strange stands, trying to follow her gaze. It’s impossible to see anything, and he quickly gives up, instead holding out his hand in a gesture that allowed for Mantis to take the lead. “Well then,” he says, voice rid of any emotion once again, “lets go find them, shall we?”

 

* * *

 

“…Hello?” she calls, hand pressed against her forehead to block the somehow furious glare of the red sun. In the distance, she can see someone running. He is not running in her direction- she can simply see him. “Hello!” she calls again, trying to get his attention. He can’t hear her. He’s too far away. He’s still running.

There is something running alongside of him.

Wanda does not give up that easily.

She takes a breath, gathers the energy inside of her, and watches as her hands twinkle red and white, plumes of monstrous existence surrounding each finger twitch.

Within seconds, she has released it into the sky. It’s loud, and big, and if the flare does not get his attention she does not know what will.

She hopes it will work.

He’s still running. His legs are tempted to give out, his heart about to do so. After running, and running, and running; he has not seen one person.

He is utterly alone.

Yet, every time he wants to give up, he feels the panther brush up against him. Every time his mind drifts to Shuri, and how he just left her, and his people- the panther runs by his side. Each and every single time he stops, to breathe, to cry, the panther is there, breathing with him, crying with him. T’Challa has no idea what the panther is- he doesn’t even know if it’s real. For all he knows, it could just be in his head.

He is, with it, somehow less alone.

So, he keeps going. He can feel it by his side, running at his exact speed; or, perhaps, T’Challa runs at its speed.

Then, he hears a sound. Somewhere at his side, somewhere in the distance, he hears it first; a crackle, a boom, a surge. He freezes, looks towards the sound to see a brilliant cascade of scarlet, flowing into the sky, leading him to gaze upon the source.

There was someone there, palm to the sky, the vibrancy protruding from her hand. He could not make her out in the distance but knew well of who it was. He’d seen her on the battlefield at Wakanda, taking out torrents of aliens by the second, saving thousands of his soldiers.

A grin stretches across his face, and he looks down at his panther. It looks up at him with a warmth he feels honoured to receive; looking into those starlight eyes fills him with such a gratitude, he wonders if he should be thanking the animal. He rubs its head, and it blinks slowly at him.

Then, it disappears from under his palm. The dust flows into the air with such purpose, disappearing behind the red sun, that T’Challa can’t find it in him to be sad.

He watches it disappear before turning his gaze back to the Scarlet Witch and running in her direction. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end! Nothing was resolved and I'm tired but I hope you enjoyed what I wrote for this when I was still into it. This fic hardly got any attention but I DID have fun writing it, and sometimes it just be like that. Have a nice day!


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